Watching Raymond Reddington
by DukeGirl2001
Summary: Set after the last episode (Ivan) and using the previews for the next episode (just a tiny bit). Someone close to Red shares her observations about his actions towards Liz. Incorporates the next vignette from my 'You Before Me' fic. Please let me know what you think!


_Takes place after the last episode (S1E17 – Ivan). I started thinking about who sees the real Raymond Reddington. It also incorporates the next little vignette from my 'You Before Me' fic. Anyway. Let me know what you think._

Xxx

She wonders how he finds these places really. Not her business but she is often surprised at how many safe houses he has and how well hidden they are. This one especially, the brick and wood building materials causing the dwelling to feel more like warehouse space than a temporary home.

Raymond turns towards her, an upbeat expression on his face, as Dembe leaves her in the room.

"Music my dear?"

He cranks the handle of a large music box.

She pauses for a moment and listens to the delicate music. An unusual choice, she thinks, but then there really is no usual with him either. She starts back toward the door to the exterior.

"It's lovely Raymond. Now we…"

He doesn't move to follow her, instead leans back against the wall and calls out to her.

"Mr. Kaplan, please. There is always time to sit and appreciate a rare antique." He steps back and beams as the music turns out of the box. "It's really quite exquisite isn't it…the sound…like angels singing." He waxes poetic, his hand lifting into the air to direct the fragile notes.

"Yes Raymond, a fine piece. Did you procure it from the Dutchman?" She humors him and engages in his story. They were going to be late. They always were when he went off on one of his tangents.

"Oh no." His features alight in a smile. "I made it myself. Well, almost. You should have _seen_ the box it came in. Like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle."

His chest puffs proudly. Like a grade-schooler she thinks. She smirks.

"That's nice Raymond."

"Really, piece by piece, gear by gear…see," he gestures behind him at the workbench.

"Dearie," the confusion evident in her voice, "whatever possessed you to…" she pauses, the pieces coming together, "for the girl." She says it quietly. "You did this for her?" The last part more of a statement than a question.

The air leaves the room and they both stop talking, staring at the music box. The lightheartedness of the moment gone.

"Careful Dearie," she cautions. "Some things, once done, can't be undone."

Xxx

'Mitchell Travers for City Council.' It seems everyone at the rally holds up the same sign on a tall wooden stick. Liz and the team scattered below seem to be having a bear of a time locating their target through the crowd.

Red watches her from his perch at the edge of the square.

People and their local politics. All fired up about a lot of nothing if you asked him, which, of course, no one had.

He rolls the edge of his wool scarf this way and that in his hands. The movement of Liz and her team turning and cutting through the crowd setting his nerves on end. The crowd, he thinks, perhaps reminding him of faraway revolts and uprisings that he helped orchestrate.

Not her, certainly not her.

Xxx

Mr. Kaplan observes the scene in front of her from her vantage point between an empty brick flower garden and the black sedan parked at the curb. A stray shout from the crowd mixes in with the tinny scream of a passing fire truck and the hissing of a metro bus pulling up to the traffic signal.

Dembe steps forward and scans the crowd. Back and forth. Back and forth. Seeing nothing amiss he steps back to his post beside the well dressed woman.

"I dare say I've never seen him like this before." Mr. Kaplan speaks.

"Like how, ma'am?"

"He's rattled. He does this when he acts before thinking."

Dembe says nothing but she has the perception that he is in agreement with her.

"I worry about him. What he's letting himself get into with the girl. Is he not sleeping again?" She points the question at the large man beside her.

"Mr. Reddington is deeply concerned with Agent Keen's personal welfare." He deflects her question. Always the professional.

"If that's what he wants to call it…fine. But he best be careful before he gets himself entangled in something he can't buy his way out of."

Xxx

"He has a gun, a gun!" The man's voice can be heard above the den.

The crowd scatters and number sixty-three disappears from view.

"Dammit." Liz swears under her breath. They were so close.

Then she sees Red sauntering out from behind the podium. Hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face.

"Lizzie…" he starts.

"It was _you_!" she exclaims. "Why?"

"Lizzie, wait." He says it louder than he planned, but to her back. She is already walking away towards Ressler and the rest of the team.

A minute later they are gone.

Xxx

"Dearie, has it occurred to you why you are doing these things?" Mr. Kaplan steps behind him as he stares out at the space where the government issue Suburban just departed.

"Mr. Kaplan, there is a time and a place for contemplation. For deep thinking and careful consideration. Ashrams in India. Monasteries in the far east. That lovely yoga resort in Barbados. This," he gestures widely at the nearly cleared plaza, "is not that place."

Her pinched features tighten.

"Proceed carefully Raymond."

He doesn't respond but she's sure that he hears her words.

"As you once told me, there is a line, and once you cross over you can never go back."

"Dear woman, I have no earthly idea _what_ you are talking about. We are standing in a public square. A crowd of innocents had gathered. The man had a gun. I was performing nothing less than my civic duty, as would we all."

He pats her on the back and turns to Dembe. "Shall we?"

He steps one leg into the dark sedan and turns back to the older woman.

"After while."

The door shuts with a muffled click before she can respond. She shakes her head.

As she turns to leave the tinted window lowers and Red leans forward into the open space.

"Mr. Kaplan," he speaks slowly, his voice so low she has to strain to hear him, "Just so you know…it wasn't my intent." His face lacks the charge it held a moment earlier and she notes that the man in the window is Raymond, not Red - the hypercharged character he often plays.

She stops and waits for him to say more, he looks like he might, but he doesn't. He just raises the window as the large car moves out into the afternoon traffic.

Xxx

Liz jumps. He's on her couch again. She didn't hear the door open. Yet there he sits. Black overcoat still buttoned but with his hat in hand. His nervous tell, she thinks absently.

"I'm sorry." He says it into the darkness, her form still in the shadow.

"You shouldn't have interfered," she says it quietly. "It's my job," she adds, moving into the dull light. "I know what I'm doing, that's why you picked me." The last part sort of a question but not really.

"I know." He looks weary. Exhausted.

"So, why?"

"I was afraid."

"I didn't know you felt fear?" She says it lightly, as a joke. Maybe.

He stares past her now. Into the shadow of the kitchen.

"I didn't either."

Minutes pass, the only sounds coming from the cars outside and the mechanical plink of the icemaker at work in the kitchen.

"Why are you doing this for me?" She asks the questions that circles her mind day in and day out.

"Funny you should ask Lizzie, Mr. Kaplan all but ask me the same question this afternoon…"

She waits for his answer.

"Is it obligation? Because of my father? Why?"

Silence.

She pulls her gaze away from her hands and looks over at Red.

He looks broken. She sees the same eyes, the same expression…almost horror, that was evident the night of the attack. The box, the blood, Anslo.

"Lizzie, fate, your father, all of these things brought me to you…brought us together…a long time ago…"

She accepts this, the answer vague, but still telling for him.

"…and because," his eyes shift to hers and she thinks he is searching for something there, something inside her, "you…matter to me."

He reaches forward and takes her hand. Doesn't pull her closer or let her go. Just holds her hands as the minutes tick by.

"_You_," he repeats himself – more forcefully this time, "_matter_ to me."

Xxx

The hand holding hers is shaking. He wonders if she notices. She looks stunned. Her face devoid of expression. He sympathizes. He didn't come here to tell her…surprised himself with the…with the realization of why.

He tugs her hand gently and she comes forward willingly. Settles down on the couch right beside him. The length of her leg, her shoulder, all touching him.

He reaches his arm around her and pulls her toward him.

"Me too." Her voice barely a whisper. "You matter…." she turns and looks up at him, "you matter to me too." She settles back against his shoulder.

His heart catches and he feels the pressure increase on the back of his eyes. Holds onto her, the moment turning and reaching around him. It's the only thing he knows to do.

Xxx


End file.
